"So" said Aziza, "Since you're both an experienced therapist and someone's who had experience with wielding vast, unchecked power, you seemed like the logical choice."
"I don't know if 'fixing a sadistic mass murderer' is at the top of my list of priorities at the moment." said Greta tartly. "I think her surviving victims might be more in need of help. And, frankly, giving up the ring to you doesn't seem like one of my best decisions after Covid and the Fimbulwinter."
+++++++++++++++
Maria trembled. Tonight, she had decided, would be the night. Elizabeth, whose car was in considerably better condition than Maria's clunker, usually picked her up and dropped her off for their evenings together, which both of them were increasingly coming to think of as "dates" particularly after Elizabeth had spontaneously kissed Maria on the lips as they sat on a park bench watching the fireworks. It was time to move to the next stage, and she knew that Robbie had the kids this weekend. (The church ladies had been quietly urging her on, but that was only reinforcing what Maria felt in her heart, and, to be honest, a part of her body somewhat below her heart.) She was hesitant. She knew that Elizabeth was used to the body of her supermodel ex-spouse, and although Maria was content with her well-worn body, she knew it was not physically attractive in the way that had become the norm since the Great Change. And she and Elizabeth were so culturally different. And yet. . .
"Would, would you like to stay the night?"
Elizabeth looked at Maria's hopeful face.
"Yes. I would like that very much."